


Wallflower

by ddagent



Series: Caterer!Phil [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Christmas Party, F/M, Fluff, Mistletoe, Philinda AU Festive Challenge, catering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 01:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2904278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck at Maria's Christmas party, Melinda retreats to the kitchen where she becomes enamoured with the caterer. For the Philinda AU Festive Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wallflower

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Agents of SHIELD or any of its characters, or settings - all belongs to Marvel and ABC.
> 
> One of the prompts was 'Christmas Party', and this sprung up in the shower this morning. Hope you enjoy it, and that everyone had a happy holiday!

Melinda May had never enjoyed parties. She preferred the quiet that came with conversation over a well-aged glass of whiskey than the music and chatter that accompanied long stemmed glasses on silver platters. Sadly, as the door swung open to Maria’s apartment on the Saturday night before Christmas, it was a glass of champagne that was handed to her.

 

“Thank you,” Melinda said; gritting her teeth as the boy at the door reached for her coat. She shrugged it off herself, leaving her in the short black dress Maria had bought for her last birthday. The heels were killing her feet and she hated the sensation of lipstick on her mouth. But it was Christmas and so she was making an effort.

 

Maria was quite wealthy, a rising star in her legal practice. Her apartment was quite spacious and she used every inch of it to throw one hell of a Christmas party. Melinda didn’t really recognise anyone; she assumed most of those invited were employees of Pierce, Fury and Associates. Melinda peered desperately into the assembled throngs of guests, hoping to find a face she recognised. Alas, no luck.

 

From her right, one of the guests strode up to her. He was tall, around her age with an open collar and a smudge of lipstick on his cheek. His eyes glinted in the dim light of the party, and Melinda felt more like prey than a partygoer. “Hi. I’m Brock, Brock Rumlow.”

 

“Melinda.”

 

He slid closer, his body leaning into hers. “Pleasure. So, what brings you here tonight?”

 

Small talk was never her forte, and Melinda took a small sip of her champagne to occupy herself.  “I’m a friend of Maria’s. You?”

 

“Well, at the moment, I would have to say _you._ ”

 

Rumlow was too forward to be one of Maria’s set ups, so Melinda didn’t feel bad about making excuses to leave. She already had one lotharioshe used for sex; she had no need for another. “I’m going to get another drink.”

 

His smile turned sharp, pointed; his eyes narrowing at her full champagne flute. “Why don’t I keep you company whilst you finish this one?”

 

Melinda resisted the urge to roll her eyes; instead lifting the flute to her mouth and drinking the champagne in one go. “Enjoy the party, Brock.”

 

She passed him, leaving the empty champagne glass on a nearby tray. As she continued her walk through the party, she still didn’t recognise a single face. At this rate she’d call it an early night and head for home, finding her own glass of whiskey. Passing the bar, Melinda considered getting one. But then she caught sight of a brunette in a blue dress slipping into the kitchen. _Maria._ Finally.

 

Melinda pressed her palm against the kitchen door, opening it up to a flurry of activity. Usually the place was spotless, the refrigerator empty of nothing but the take out cartons Maria ate when she was working on a case. No doubt that would all change when Steve moved in next year. But Melinda doubted that, even then, it would be anything like _this._ Every surface was covered in pots and pans, knives and chopping boards. There were at least three waiters moving around the kitchen, looking for more food or glasses.

 

But no Maria.

 

“Guests aren’t allowed in the kitchen,” a sharp voice called out to her. Melinda looked over to the centre of the kitchen for the source, where a man with short brown hair was hunched over a counter. His hands were busy preparing hors d’oeuvres on a tray, his attention focussed on the platter. “Do you need something?”

 

“I’m looking for the lady of the house.”

 

The man nodded, finishing the tray before he looked up. The tight expression he wore relaxed as he took her in: from the painful black heels on her feet to the exceptionally short dress she wore on the rest of her. He swallowed, wiping his hands on a towel before he came around to her side of the counter.

 

“I haven’t seen Ms Hill for a while; she’s kind of left me to it.” With a pause in preparation, his expression relaxed further into one of sincerity. “Listen, I’m sorry about before. Tonight’s just been crazy.”

 

“It’s fine.” Melinda smiled faintly, taking another glance around the kitchen. She could see just how busy it had been. “How many people are here?”

 

“A lot and they’re _hungry._ ” He offered his hand as a peace offering, and Melinda took it. Now that calm had been restored to his kitchen, he was full of manners. “I’m Phil Coulson, by the way, of Coulson Catering. I have a card somewhere.”  

 

Melinda shook his hand firmly. He had a good grip. She liked that in a person. “Melinda May. No catering affiliation whatsoever.”  

 

Phil laughed at her meagre attempt at humour, his eyes brightening as he smiled. He was attractive, with a fascinating pair of blue eyes and a touch of grey in his hair. It was a shame he was kept to the kitchen. “Well, it’s really nice to meet you. I am sorry about before. I don’t know about Ms Hill, but is there anything else I can do, maybe get for you?”

 

“Not really. I suppose I should brave the party again.”

 

“Or you could wait here for a while?” Phil offered, moving back over to the counter where he was preparing another set of canapés. “I’m sure Ms Hill will swing through here soon.”

 

“Are you sure I wouldn’t be a distraction?”

 

Phil smiled as he reached for the asparagus. “The best kind.”

 

Smiling herself, Melinda decided it would be best to stay in the kitchen for a little while longer. She watched Phil work, her gaze fixated on him as he sliced open the asparagus. He had good hands, knew how to work the knife over the ingredients. She knew how to use a knife, but not as delicately as the caterer in front of her did.

 

“So, are you a friend or a co-worker of Ms Hill’s?” Phil asked, pausing in slicing the asparagus to take a dish out of the oven. “Hey, are you allergic to apricots? Do you want to try one?”

 

There were certain benefits to staying in the kitchen other than the attractive caterer. Melinda left her spot by the wall to join him by the oven. He used a toothpick to spear a baked apricot wrapped in bacon, offering it to her with a smile. She took a bite, grinning at the flavour on her tongue. Coulson seemed pleased by her reaction. “A friend, I’ve known Maria for years. What about you? How do you know Maria?”

 

“My college roommate knows a friend of Ms Hill’s, he got me the job.” Phil paused. “If you wait right here, I’ll have something else for you to try in a minute.”

 

Melinda stayed by the oven, finishing off the apricot as she watched Phil glide around the kitchen. He placed each apricot carefully on a tray before calling to a waitress by the door. The young brunette slid her phone back into her pocket before she took the tray from his hands. Phil kept the door open for her as she returned to the party. There was another waiter ready to go, a couple by the dishwasher keeping the glasses flowing. The kitchen never stopped.

 

“Donnie, there’s two more bags of ice in that freezer, make sure Trip has them on the bar,” Phil called out to one of his staff as he re-joined her by the oven. “You’re not allergic to fish, are you?”

 

“You’re not giving me a great deal of confidence about your food, Mister Coulson.”

 

Phil grinned, his body close to hers as he brushed past her on his way to the fridge. He pulled out a dish of calamari rings before heating butter at the bottom of a pan. “Trust me; I know what I’m doing. I’ve been cooking since I was a kid, and I like to think I’ve only got better. I love food. I spent last summer in Argentina learning about all different kinds of flavour. Have you ever been to Argentina?”

 

Once, but it wasn’t something Melinda felt comfortable discussing in a busy kitchen with a man she’d just met. Her answer wasn’t required, as Coulson continued to talk whilst frying the calamari. “I love South America; they have some of the most _incredible_ dishes. I like Europe, too, especially when I was younger. I once spent a summer abroad in France, came back with a whole heap of recipes and about seven extra pounds. All that cream, impossible to resist.” Phil bowed his head, wincing as he looked in her direction. “Sorry, I’m babbling. You probably want to go back to the party now.”

 

“Not especially.” Melinda placed a hand on his arm, relishing the heat from his skin. “I’m enjoying myself.”

 

“So am I.” Phil wiped his forehead with his spare arm. He added some spices to the pan, pouring in a little more oil. “Have you done much travelling?”

 

“A little. I like Naples, Rome. It’s nice to have decent pasta. My own culinary attempts haven’t exactly been successful. Did you know it was possible to burn spaghetti?”

 

Phil laughed, breaking her hold on his arm to plate the calamari onto some bruschetta. He called to another waiter to take them out before handing her one to try. “I love pasta myself. I spent one spring being a waiter at an Italian restaurant, got to know how to make the perfect marinara sauce. You know, I sometimes give cooking lessons. A few basics, a few techniques.”

 

“Really?

 

He nodded, lifting the now empty pan off the heat. “Yeah, I do.” With another break in the cooking, Phil leant back against the counter. “Do you want a drink, or something? I can get Skye to go out to the bar. I don’t have much in here. Ms Hill took the last of the rum with her; I can only assume it was to spice up my eggnog.”

 

Melinda remembered the last Christmas party and how much alcohol had been in the punch. She’d never had a hangover like it. “If it’s not seventy-five percent alcohol, Maria won’t drink it.”  

 

Phil grinned, leaning over to rummage in a couple of boxes left on the counter. He pulled out a half empty bottle of rum. “My grandpa taught me how to make hot buttered rum when I was a kid. It’s nice; it’ll keep you warm on a cold night.”

 

The last thing Melinda needed was warming up. Between the hot kitchen and Phil in front of her, Melinda felt like she was running a fever. “Maybe for the way home. A drink like that is probably best enjoyed tucked up in bed.”

 

“I couldn’t agree more.”

 

Melinda was grateful for the heels she wore so she only had to lean forward. But before they could make that move, a timer went off in the depths of the kitchen. Phil made his apologies, immediately opening the second oven to baste a turkey. Leaving him to it, Melinda settled herself on one of the stools by the breakfast bar. Maria only hired the best for her parties, and Phil certainly fit that profile. He knew his food, was good with his hands. Melinda was very grateful for her decision to hide away in the kitchen.

 

From her right, the brunette from earlier came through the door, dropping her tray to the counter. Immediately she pulled out her phone, checking her messages. Phil, having stuck the turkey back in the oven, glared at her from across the kitchen. “Skye, do you remember my rules on cell phones?”

 

“Sorry,” the kid said, dropping her phone back into her pocket. “Listen, AC, is there anything I can do in _here_ for a while? Some of the guests don’t seem able to tell the difference between a pat on the back and a squeeze of my ass.”

 

Phil’s face furrowed, seemingly displeased by the behaviour of some of the guests. “That’s fine, Skye. Could you get me and Ms May here a drink? A coke for me, and a…”

 

“Whiskey, straight.”

 

“…for Ms May. And when Trip goes on break you can take over the bar.” Skye nodded, about to leave when Phil reached for her elbow. “And Skye? Write me a list of any guests you’re unhappy with and I’ll bring it up with Ms Hill after the party.”

 

The brunette nodded, continuing her path to the bar. Phil immediately returned to work, removing a slab of pastry from the fridge before seasoning the asparagus he had sliced earlier. The kitchen was only getting hotter, and Melinda was suddenly very glad she had worn the short black dress tonight. It left a great deal of leg on show, but Phil didn‘t seem to mind. When he wasn’t focussing on rolling out pastry he was following the line of her legs.

 

“Do you do many parties?” Melinda asked, wanting to continue their conversation. “Or are you more a corporate man?”

 

Phil laughed, his fingers wrapping pastry around the asparagus “Not so much, I did a couple when I first started but they didn’t work out. I like catering parties, creating a menu to a particular theme, catering the menu to the season. I did a couple of weddings but I really hate dealing with brides. Not as much creative control.”

 

Melinda laughed, Phil joining in as he glazed the pastry. She couldn’t recall the food from her own wedding, couldn’t recall much from that experience other than the long arguments. She didn’t want to imagine Phil with a wife, someone who came home to his cooking and who he treated on anniversaries. She did imagine that he’d been a nightmare at his own wedding, no doubt spending half the reception in the kitchen. “I’m sure the caterer would say the same about you at your wedding.”

 

“She did.” Phil froze, and Melinda sighed inwardly. It had been too much to hope that he was single. “I’m sure the food would have been great on the day; but for the four months we were planning the wedding, me and the caterer were at each other’s throats.”

 

A flicker of hope sprung up inside her. “So you’re not engaged anymore?”

 

Phil shook his head, turning seamlessly from the counter to the oven to bake the asparagus spears. He washed his hands once, twice, before placing sugar and heavy cream on a clean counter. “Long distance relationships never work out. But it’s okay, I’ve been told there are plenty of single women in New York.”

 

“So I’ve heard. May just be me left.”

 

“I don’t see that as a problem,” Phil shot back, breathing a little heavier as he melted butter in a saucepan. “I’ve been babbling for a while, now. What about you? What do you do when you’re not distracting innocent caterers?”

 

Melinda snorted, standing up to join Phil by the stove. There was nothing innocent about Phil Coulson, and the look in his eye only confirmed it. But he seemed nice, like he had a good heart. Her last few dalliances had been devoid of that. “I own a martial arts studio.”

 

“Wow,” Phil said, his attention caught between her and the butter. “That’s awesome, I bet that’s great. Shit, where did I put the heavy cream?”

 

“Counter.” Phil bobbed his head, immediately turning to rescue that and the sugar. He poured the required amounts into the saucepan, watching it bubble underneath the heat. As the kitchen grew warmer, Phil took off his shirt to leave him in just t-shirt. It also left his arms exposed. Muscles like that didn’t come from just stirring. “Have you ever taken a martial arts class?”

 

“I was a regular at my jujitsu class in Portland. I loved it, loved the discipline. I’ve been meaning to take it up again, but it’s been difficult trying to find the time after setting up the new business.”

 

Melinda knew that feeling all too well. Her own hobby had been side lined whilst the studio had taken all her attention. But now she made time to go out with her camera. She hoped Phil would get the chance to do the same. “You know, I could always use another body in my class.”

 

Phil beamed; his mouth opening to hopefully accept her offer.  But another timer went off and Phil rushed to attend to that. He then shot back over to the stove, struggling to stop the caramel sauce from over boiling and essentially ruining the flavour. Donnie, the waiter, came back in asking for more ice. The tension in Phil’s shoulders returned and Melinda realised she should leave him to it. The last thing she wanted was to outstay her welcome.

 

Slipping away from the kitchen, Melinda bumped into Skye as she headed out the door. The brunette handed her the whiskey, frowning as she saw the direction she was heading. “Are you leaving already?”

 

“I think I’m distracting your boss too much.”

 

Skye grimaced as she observed Phil running around like The Flash. “Well, he must _really_ like you. Usually he hates anyone in his kitchen.”

 

Melinda grinned. She really liked Phil too. Before she re-joined the party, she reached into her purse and pulled out a business card. She offered it to Skye. “If Phil tells Maria those names, she’ll deal with them. But it you want anything else, I run a great set of classes.”

 

Skye took the card, grinning when she saw the focus of her business. “Cool. Thanks. I am getting really tired of people trying to break into my van.”

 

As they went their separate ways, Melinda took a deep breath before stepping back into the celebrations. The rest of the party was not as interesting as the brief time she had spent with Phil in the kitchen. After _finally_ tracking down Maria, she tried setting her up with an old soldier pal of her boyfriend Steve’s. Natasha and Clint kept plying her with eggnog; discussing plans for their wedding in the spring as well as confirming who was bringing what to their New Year’s party. Bobbi and Jemma, her new girlfriend, were wrapped up under the mistletoe and other than a wave she didn’t have a chance to talk to them at all.

 

Another Hill Holiday party.

 

As the guests began to trickle out the doors, Melinda decided to as well. Once all the goodbyes and ‘happy holidays’ were said and done, Melinda headed for the kitchen. She slipped inside, hoping to see Phil once more before she went home. She really wanted a chance to talk to him without the madness of running a kitchen distracting him. No such luck. All there was inside were a couple of tired waiters and a stack of dirty dishes.

 

“Hey, you heading out?” Maria asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders when Melinda nodded. “You know, Bucky was just about to get a cab home…”

 

“Stop it.” Melinda chastised. She was getting really tired of these set ups. But maybe Maria could actually help for once. “Hey, you don’t have a card for your caterer, do you?”

 

Maria nodded, taking out her phone and passing it to Melinda so she could scrawl the number down on the inside of her hand. “You planning an event, Ms May? Please _god_ tell me that you and Ward aren’t engaged.”

 

“Oh _please,_ me and Ward aren’t even dating. I just liked the food.”

 

“Well he’s an old friend of Clint’s; he’s actually going to be catering their wedding so you’ll get to try his food again then.” Maria smiled, her hands squeezing her shoulders. “Thank you for coming, Melinda. I know this isn’t your scene, but it wouldn’t be the same without you.”

 

“No party is.”

 

Her friend’s laughter followed her out the door. Melinda relished the quiet of the corridor, smiling as she headed down the hall to the elevator. It had certainly been a better party than expected, and Melinda had even left with a number. She’d call him in the New Year; ask him if those cooking lessons were still available. Stepping onto a free elevator, her thoughts returned to him. Phil and his hot buttered rum would keep her warm on the way back to her apartment, and probably for the rest of the weekend too.

 

The elevator doors slid shut, signalling the start of her journey home. But suddenly they shuddered open. Melinda looked up to see that a familiar face had stopped the elevator. He looked tired, worn out after an evening of cooking. But Melinda very much wanted to take him home.

 

“You left before I could talk to you again. My number,” Phil gasped, holding out a rectangular business card with a hastily scrawled cell phone number on the back. “I really enjoyed tonight, _really_ enjoyed meeting you. Maybe we could grab a coffee some time, or I could make you dinner.”

 

Melinda closed the distance between them and took Phil’s card. Her fingers brushed his as she pulled away and slipped the card into her purse. “I would really like that, Phil.”

 

With the promise of a future date on the cards, Melinda would leave the party happy. Something caught her eye, and Melinda saw that someone – no doubt Maria– had fixed mistletoe to the ceiling. Phil saw it too, his body sighing with exhaustion. “I would kiss you, I honestly would, but that dress looks really expensive and I’m kind of a mess right now.”

 

“I don’t see that as a problem.”

 

Grinning, Phil pushed forward, letting the elevator doors close behind him. Suddenly Melinda was pressed against them, two strong arms wrapped around her as they kissed under the mistletoe. Phil was as good with his lips as he was with his hands, and Melinda felt herself melting like butter. She could taste caramel on his tongue, a hint of rum on his lips. She pressed her mouth more insistently against his, desperate for more of that taste. Desperate for more of him.

 

Melinda made a resolution to attend more parties in the future, especially if Phil Coulson was the caterer. Suddenly hiding in the kitchen had a _whole_ new appeal to it. 


End file.
